


Too Far Out All My Life

by mysticanni



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 21:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21043139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: Roger plans a nice romantic day at the beach with John. They both end up in hospital.





	Too Far Out All My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Joger Week 2019 'swimming' prompt.
> 
> Title from "Not Waving But Drowning" by Stevie Smith.

It had been Roger who had suggested the first race. He had suggested it for the purely selfish reason that he liked watching John swim; liked watching his barely clothed body power through the water.

  
John had protested that making him race Brian was hardly fair. ‘He’s practically as long as the pool.’

  
Freddie had noted that Brian was an awkward swimmer. ‘You’ll be faster, Deaky, darling.’

  
Brian had protested that he could easily beat John and the race was on.

  
Roger didn’t care who won as long as he could watch the muscles in John’s shoulders ripple with each stroke; watch his legs scissoring. He would beat Brian easily, Roger thought. Brian was thrashing along in marked contrast to John’s sleek, apparently effortless, efficient front crawl. Brian, who was so purposeful and efficient in other areas of his life, was literally flailing here. Still, Roger supposed he was at least moving and not sinking. He was not beautiful to watch, however, unlike John.

  
John’s calloused fingertips touched the tiles well before Brian. ‘John wins,’ Freddie announced unnecessarily. ‘Why don’t you race him next, Rog?’

John grinned up at Roger from the pool, his wet hair plastered to his head, the water droplets on his shoulders glistening in the sunshine. ‘Come on in, the water’s lovely!’ he invited Roger.

  
Roger sat down on the edge of the pool and dangled his feet in the water. ‘It’s cold,’ he complained.

  
‘You’re hot,’ John contradicted him, ‘It’s fine once you are in. Or are you are too scared to get your hair wet?’ he teased. ‘Are you worried it’ll turn green again?’

  
Roger flipped him off then slid into the pool with a little gasp. It was fucking freezing.

  
‘Are you ready, darlings?’ Freddie asked.

  
‘Ready, Freddie,’ John grinned.

  
Roger was not ready at all. He was shivering and was about to get back out, thanks very much...

  
‘Ready! Set! Go!’ Freddie shouted.

  
John shot off like a bullet from a gun. Roger sighed and swam after him.

  
*

  
John’s legs were even better from this new angle, Roger had to admit. To his considerable surprise he was catching up with John.

  
At the far end of the pool they tumbled together, as synchronised as they were on stage; their long hair streaming out around them. John glanced at Roger, who was like a merman he thought: luring John with his long blond hair and his big blue eyes and his other-worldly singing.

  
Roger glanced at John, half expecting to see him brandishing a trident: god of this watery realm, seeing off intruders. Why did this amazing man allow Roger to be with him? When would he realise he could do so much better?

  
And they were off again, carving through the water. And in that moment Roger felt wholly alive and full of joy. There was nothing but this moment: the water and the sunlight and the beauty of John.

  
Their hands reached out simultaneously, fingertips stretching towards the turquoise tiles. Then their fingers were entwined, touching the tiles together, their heads rising out of the water. Water cascaded from them and their lips flowed together in a perfect chlorinated kiss.

  
‘You two are so sweet,’ Freddie cooed above them.

  
‘Yeah,’ Brian agreed sourly, ‘True love is John waiting for Roger to catch up with him and force a draw so Rog doesn’t sulk for the rest of the day. Ugh! Get a room you two!’

  
As they clambered out of the pool, Brian added, ‘Seriously, though, you can’t go around kissing in public.’

  
‘We’re not,’ John pointed out, wrapping a sun-warmed towel around Roger’s shoulders. ‘This is a private villa with a lovely secluded pool.’

  
‘Well, don’t blame me if a photographer captures you through a hole in the hedge,’ Brian huffed.

  
Roger felt his joy drain away like water down a plughole. Of course John had allowed him to catch up. Did they really think he would have sulked if he had lost? Would he have sulked? Not as much as Brian, he thought. ‘Crystal’s checked and no one can see us,’ he said soothingly to Brian. ‘But we hear you, Bri, and we’ll be careful.’

  
He was sick of being careful. He wanted to kiss John with wild abandon. If anyone deserved some wild abandonment it was John.

  
Roger wanted to tell the world how marvellous John was. John: who knew how things worked; who could make things; who could fix things; who smiled fondly at Roger when he described electricity as magic and called him an idiot (‘but you’re my idiot!’). John: who could create gorgeous music; who was one of the kindest men Roger knew; who was the most beautiful man inside and out. Roger wanted to shout from the rooftops how amazing John was. But the world did not approve of one man loving another so he could not.

  
*

  
The next day they headed to the beach. Their holiday was nearing an end and Roger wanted a day just for them. He had heard of a secret cove accessible only via a cliff-top path. ‘It’ll be worth the hike,’ he promised John. ‘It’s secluded. We’ll have the place to ourselves.’

  
‘Very secluded,’ John commented, surveying the hordes of families and couples on the small stretch of sand below them, when they arrived at the steps hewn into the cliff face that led down to the beach.

  
Roger felt like crying: another thing he had got wrong. John deserved perfection not this constant inadequacy. ‘Well,’ he said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice, ‘it is a lovely spot, even if we don’t have it all to ourselves.’

  
John gave his hand a quick, surreptitious, squeeze. ‘It’s great, Rog,’ he said kindly. But it wasn’t great, Roger knew. John deserved the best of everything, not this continual stream of well-intentioned failures.

  
*

  
It had been a long hot walk to reach the crowded cove so they both went for a swim. There were little kids messing about in a rowing boat and Roger found himself wondering irritably who their parents were and why they were apparently unsupervised. He was becoming a grumpy old man he thought. Or Brian, a little voice in his head said, making him laugh.

John was asking him what was so funny when there was a loud splash and a shriek. One of the smaller children had tumbled from the boat into the water and a large woman on the shore was howling that he could not swim. Roger was still processing this while John was calmly and competently swimming towards the boat to rescue the flailing child.

  
Roger watched as a slightly older child, still in the boat, tried unsuccessfully to get his sibling to grab hold of one of the heavy wooden oars. As the child waved the oar about it accidentally whacked John on the head.

  
*

  
‘You bloody idiot!’ Brian yelled, striding towards Roger. ‘What the fuck did you do to get both of you admitted to hospital? And why didn’t you fucking call us?’ he demanded.

  
Crystal had halted when he saw Roger. He heard Freddie gasp. Brian seemed oblivious to how awful Roger looked.

  
‘Brian, darling,’ Freddie began. Then, seeming to realise Brian was too caught up in the wave of panicked rage that had engulfed him, he turned to Roger instead. ‘We were worried, Roggie, dear. You might have phoned,’ he murmured.

  
Roger stood up and the blanket that had been wrapped around his shoulders slipped, revealing livid bruises on his shoulders and upper arms, matching the large bruise on his jaw. He had blood on his face and in his hair. His hands appeared to be caked in dried blood. His hair was a wild mess and he had plainly been crying. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only his jeans.

  
‘Where’s Deaky?’ Brian was asking.

  
Roger’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t you know?’ he whimpered. ‘They won’t tell me anything,’ he added. ‘She didn’t come back,’ he said cryptically.

  
Crystal reached him just as Brian started to yell about not knowing anything because someone hadn’t bothered to call. ‘Have you seen a doctor, Rog?’ Crystal asked, approaching Roger carefully as if he was a wild animal who might startle or bite.

  
Roger stared at him blankly. It seemed to take him a worryingly long time to process what Crystal had just asked him.

Eventually he nodded. Crystal had been hoping for more detail. He sighed and held out his arms. ‘C’m’ere,’ he commanded. Roger obediently flopped against him, allowing him to hug him.

  
‘Roger?’ an anxious voice said from behind them.

  
Roger whirled round so rapidly he almost fell over. ‘John? Are you okay?’

  
Crystal thought John looked considerably better than Roger did. Roger was now standing in front of Crystal and the bruising on his back was extensive. John was barefoot but dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He had a large patch of gauze taped to his forehead and an impressive bruise there but apart from that he looked fine.

  
‘I’m fine,’ John confirmed. ‘I can go home now, apparently, and I’d like to, please.’

  
Brian bustled off to find someone to talk to about aftercare. Crystal suspected he also didn’t completely trust John not to have decided for himself that he could go home.

  
John looked quizzically at Roger. ‘How’d you get those bruises?’ Without waiting for a reply, he added, ‘Where’s your shirt?’

  
*

  
There was blood in the water.

  
John was limp and unconscious in his arms as Roger kicked for the shore.

  
The beach seemed impossibly far away.

  
A tanned blond giant of a man; gently taking John from him; telling him in broken English that he was a doctor, on holiday from Germany.

  
John’s head had been bleeding profusely. Blood stains had bloomed on Roger’s white shirt as he held it to John’s head.

  
*

  
His shirt, soaked in blood, had been discarded on the beach. Along with the picnic they had taken and their towels, shoes, Roger’s wallet, and the bag they had brought everything in.

  
Roger opened his mouth to reply to John and tell him he had forgotten his shirt. He was surprised to find himself vomiting.  
‘You’re alright,’ Crystal murmured automatically, as he always did if Roger threw-up. (Roger fully expected Crystal to be murmuring that everything would be alright when Roger was on his death-bed.) Crystal gently rubbed Roger’s back. ‘Let’s get you sitting back down...’ He deftly steered Roger onto a chair, tucking the blanket back round him. He crouched in front of Roger, eying him suspiciously. ‘Have you been cleared to leave, Devil Child?’

  
John had evidently been cleaned up, cared for, Crystal thought, but Roger looked utterly neglected. Crystal had always thought Roger was in safe hands when he was with John but now he was changing his mind. He wondered if there was any way of keeping Roger locked up when he wasn’t actually on stage or in the studio. Roger would probably manage to cause havoc even locked in an empty room though. Crystal sighed.

  
John fought the impulse to apologise to Crystal, who was looking at him much in the manner of a child who had entrusted his favourite toy to John and had been handed it back broken beyond repair. John wondered if Roger realised that Crystal was in love with him. He wondered if Crystal realised he was in love with Roger.

  
He wanted to protest that he had no idea what had happened to transform Roger into this wild looking blank eyed stranger. He fought the almost overwhelming impulse to shake Roger, see if he could spark some life into him. He felt like shouting that he had been terrified to wake up in a hospital bed with no idea how he had got there or what had happened or where Roger was. Surely Roger should be treating him with the same concern Crystal was displaying for Roger?

  
Freddie sat next to Roger and gently clasped his hand. ‘Sweetheart, have you definitely seen a doctor?’

  
‘’M fine,’ Roger mumbled, ‘Just bruised.’

  
John came and sat on the other side of Roger. He linked his fingers with Roger’s under the blanket. His eyes met Crystal’s. Roger was his.

  
Crystal stood up. ‘I’ll get someone...’ he murmured vaguely.

  
*

  
Roger sat in silence with Freddie and John. They were each holding one of his hands. Despite the physical contact he felt detached. It was like he had sunk to the bottom of the sea and was reclining on the sandy ocean floor looking at the glimmering surface far above him. He could see the distorted faces of his friends peering down at them and he knew they were speaking to him but he could not make out the words.

  
He wondered what had happened to the little boy. He had rather unceremoniously heaved the child into boat, placing him in the recovery position. Then he had taken John ashore. Once John had been in the care of the German doctor he had returned, with some other men from the beach, to retrieve the boat.

  
The child with the oar had taken exception to them dragging the boat towards land. He had seemed to blame Roger for spoiling his fun and had started to hit him with the oar.

  
*

  
Crystal returned long before Brian. He had a nurse and a janitor in tow. The janitor began to mop up the puddle of vomit and the nurse whisked Roger back to the little room he had been taken to before to see the doctor. Crystal came with him and Roger was glad. Everything had felt hazy and surreal, as if he was underwater, since he had arrived at the hospital; the only exception had been Crystal’s hug, which had been solid and familiar and reassuring; had very nearly brought Roger back to the surface. Crystal’s presence in general was comforting.

  
Earlier, Roger had waited a while to see someone but now a doctor appeared almost immediately. It was not the man he had seen before.

  
*

  
Crystal listened carefully. Roger was badly bruised, which Crystal had diagnosed for himself but nothing was broken and he had no internal injuries. The doctor thought he was in shock. He was still okay to leave though, as long as he was not alone.  
As they were leaving the little room Crystal slipped his arm around Roger’s shoulders, careful to keep his touch light, mindful of the bruising. ‘Will we get you cleaned up a little bit?’

  
Roger seemed to take a while to consider this, too, before nodding. Crystal gently steered him to the nearest lavatory.  
Roger wished he had shoes on when Crystal propelled him into the gents. He realised he needed to relieve himself and once he had done so he shuffled to the sink to wash his hands. His hands were covered in blood. He lurched over to a cubicle and retched. ‘You’re alright,’ Crystal soothed him again, helping him back to the sink. He washed his hands, scrubbing John’s blood from them.

  
There was a mirror above the sink and he was startled to see how wild he looked. There was blood on his face. John’s blood; there had been so much blood. He glanced anxiously at Crystal. ‘She said to wait,’ he told Crystal.

  
‘Who told you to wait?’ Crystal asked gently.

  
‘The nurse,’ Roger explained. ‘I think I annoyed her...’ He told Crystal that he had kept asking how John was; where John was; could he see John? The nurse had suggested he get cleaned up. Roger had simply kept asking about John and eventually the nurse had taken him to the waiting area they had found him in and told him to stay there and that she would return when she had any news. ‘I was worried I’d miss her,’ Roger said, ‘so I didn’t move and I didn’t realise I looked like this...’ He gestured unhappily towards the mirror. ‘She didn’t come back,’ he murmured.

  
Crystal felt a surge of rage against this unknown bitch. Roger bit his lip. He looked about twelve. ‘Do you think if I had got cleaned up when she said to that I could’ve seen John?’ he murmured, adding, ‘But he is alright now, isn’t he?’ Crystal agreed that John was alright. ‘I just wanted to give him a good day out,’ Roger said sadly. ‘But I made a mess of everything, as usual.’

  
‘John will understand,’ Crystal assured him. ‘Now, let’s get you cleaned up a bit...’ he suggested, wetting some paper towels and scrubbing Roger’s face like a mother spitting on a handkerchief then scrubbing her infant’s face. Crystal also produced a hair band and tied Roger’s hair back. He removed the denim shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt and Roger slipped it on, leaving it unbuttoned. Crystal eyed Roger who looked slightly more presentable. ‘That’ll have to do for now,’ he concluded.

  
*

  
Brian had returned and was looking frustrated when Crystal escorted Roger back to where they had left Freddie and John. ‘John says he doesn’t know what happened,’ Brian informed them accusingly as they approached. He implied that John’s lack of knowledge must be Roger’s fault. ‘And if you were going to get yourself hurt Roger, did you have to sustain injuries that will stop you from drumming!’

  
Roger bristled at this. ‘This won’t stop me drumming!’ he snapped. ‘And I didn’t actively seek injuries, Brian!’

  
John breathed a sigh of relief. His Roger was apparently still somewhere inside this bruised blank eyed imposter.

  
Roger also gave John the kind of adoring look he had wanted earlier. ‘I am simply slightly bruised,’ Roger added haughtily, ‘Deaky has a head injury and needs care and attention.’

  
Roger thought it was Brian’s uncharacteristic agitation that had penetrated to the depths of his watery prison of detachment. It was not the words as such, it was more that Brian seemed to be blurting out random concerns that he would not normally have voiced (however much he might have fretted in private) and Roger was slightly worried that he might have really broken Brian this time. Roger felt that he had surfaced too rapidly and was now flapping like a fish out of water.

  
John thought exhaustedly that stress and shock had knocked them out of their usual synchronisation with each other: John had needed adoration and to be fussed over earlier and was finding it tiring now. Everything felt wrong and off balance.

  
‘Let’s go home,’ Freddie suggested wearily.

  
*

  
Roger was surprised to discover that it was early morning as they left the hospital. ‘Yes,’ Brian said tersely. ‘I’m sorry if I was harsh earlier but really, Roger, you could have bloody called,’ he added.

  
‘We were worried, dearest,’ Freddie told him.

  
Roger gulped. ‘Sorry.’

  
John had his arm around Roger’s waist and Crystal had his hand on Roger’s shoulder. Roger wondered if they were trying to anchor him to the present in case he drifted away again.

  
‘Hey!’ a voice called. ‘Hey, you: you with the blond hair!’

  
Roger sighed. It was the voice of the mother from the beach. He halted.

  
The woman hurried over to them. ‘Thank you so much,’ she gabbled. ‘I can’t ever thank you enough!’ She thrust the bag Roger and John had taken to the beach towards him. ‘You left these. I hoped I would see you, and your friend,’ she glanced at John. ‘It was nice of you to try to help, dear,’ she said to John, patting his arm. ‘You were wonderful,’ she told Roger admiringly. ‘I’m so sorry little Paul hit you. He’s a bit of a handful.’ She pulled Roger into a bruise squeezing painful hug.

  
‘Anyone would’ve done the same,’ Roger mumbled. He could hardly have let her child drown, however awful the feral boy with the oar was. ‘How is your little boy, Mrs... Erm...’

‘I’m Mrs Prenter,’ she said. ‘He is fine, thanks to you, my dear. They kept him in overnight too,’ she added with a guilty glance at John, ‘but he’s fine. I’d best get back to him, actually...’

  
Brian reached over and lifted Roger’s wallet from the top of the bag Mrs Prenter had returned to him. ‘You know,’ Brian sniffed, ‘you could still have called, even if you didn’t have any money. We would have accepted the call if you had reversed the charges.’

  
‘Didn’t think, sorry,’ Roger mumbled.

  
‘Leave him alone, dear,’ Freddie advised Brian, tucking his arm into Roger’s. ‘Let’s go home.’

  
*

  
Roger felt much better after a long hot shower. Freddie had braided his damp hair. ‘It’ll go all crinkly,’ he had said fondly. ‘I like it like that: it makes you look like a little angel.’

  
He clambered into bed next to John, who was exhausted. ‘They kept waking me up last night,’ John grumbled.

  
‘Yeah,’ Roger said softly, ‘they do that if you have a head injury.’ He snuggled against John, needing to hold him close.

  
‘You saved my life,’ John told him. He kissed Roger’s cheek. ‘You’re my hero.’

  
‘I wasn’t very heroic,’ Roger muttered. ‘You are the one who took action immediately to save the little boy. You’re my hero.’ He reflected that over the years John had saved him over and over again in every way imaginable. He pressed a kiss to the non-injured side of John’s head and added, ‘Plus the whole ill-fated trip was one of my stupid ideas. You know it turned out we didn’t even need to scramble over the fucking cliff-top path to get to the bloody cove: the ambulance used the perfectly good coastal road which would have been much fucking quicker!’

  
John began to laugh. He thought of all the ways Roger saved him, every day: making him laugh; reminding him he was loved; being there. ‘Oh, Rog, I do love you!’

  
Roger grinned sheepishly. ‘With me there is never a dull moment?’

  
‘You are certainly entertaining!’ John kissed him. ‘Once my head is less sore and your bruises have faded I’ll show you just how much I appreciate you, I promise.’

  
*

  
Later, Roger was lying on a sun-lounger dozing when Crystal sat next to him. Crystal held out a tube of ointment. ‘This should help your bruises.’

  
Roger smiled. ‘Thanks, Crys. Thanks for everything.’

  
Crystal leaned over and ruffled Roger’s hair (deliciously wavy after being freed from Freddie’s braid). ‘I hear all the money was missing from your wallet? Only you could save a child’s life and get robbed at the same time.’

  
‘No good deed goes unpunished, isn’t that what they say?’ Roger noted. ‘It could have been worse: it was only the cash that was taken, they don’t seem to have maxed out my credit card or anything.’

  
He had still had to cancel his cards, though, which had been a nuisance. John had wanted to hunt down the Prenter family and confront them about the missing money but Roger had pointed out that he had left his wallet lying on a public beach and it had not necessarily been them who had stolen from him. They had returned the belongings Roger had abandoned, after all. ‘Someone ate the picnic, too. I hope they appreciated the wine: that was a good vintage.’ Roger supposed he would also have to pay to replace the Tupperware containers belonging to the rented villa which had vanished along with the stolen picnic. He sighed.

  
‘And you couldn’t remember the phone number for this place.’ Crystal beamed at Roger. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell Brian why you really didn’t call. It’ll cost you, though.’

  
Brian had insisted that they all memorized the phone number when they had first arrived at the villa, in case of emergency. Roger hadn’t bothered, reasoning that there would be no emergency or there would be a telephone directory available or in an emergency he would be with someone who had memorized the number. Then there had been an emergency and no telephone directory available at the public phone at the hospital and the person he had been with who had probably memorized the number had also been unavailable.

  
He hated it when Brian was proven right about things.

  
Roger groaned. ‘Name your price.’

  
‘I haven’t decided what this’ll cost you yet. Don’t worry, though. You’ll be the first to know once I make my mind up.’  
Crystal sauntered off and John took his place. John glanced at Crystal’s retreating back. ‘You know, Freddie told me that Crystal was the first to realise something was wrong. He was really worried about you.’

  
Roger brightened. ‘I expect he was worried about who would pay him,’ he said lightly. He picked up the tube of ointment and brandished it at John. ‘I need you to rub this on the bruises on my back, please.’ There wasn’t much to enjoy about being injured but he would take the pluses where he could.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far then thanks for reading!


End file.
